Walking Wounded
by Muffy Morrigan
Summary: Tag to BUABS. Sam and Dean are both struggling to deal with the repercussions from Sam's possession by the demon. Can they still trust each other enough to help each other heal? HURT!Dean
1. Chapter 1

**Walking Wounded**

Chapter 1

Dean was keeping his left arm very still. It was something of a problem, driving without moving his left hand, but the pain was such that he didn't really have a choice. In the days since the demon had shot him the bullet wound had become a little infected and as uncomfortable as it had been, it was now worse. He could let Sam drive, but he didn't want to let his brother know why he needed him to take the wheel. In fact, he didn't want Sam to know about that wound at all. His brother hadn't mentioned remembering shooting him, so Dean was just letting it go. He sighed and shifted a little. _Nothing like cold water to aggravate a wound. Well, nothing like cold water and a demon shoving your brother's thumb into it to aggravate a wound. _

Sam was quiet in the passenger seat. They hadn't been talking about much these last three days. They hadn't been talking much at all. Sam snapped answers to simple questions most of the time or just sat staring out the window or at the motel room wall or the table in whatever diner they stopped at for their meals. Dean was pretty sure his brother was angry with him. _As if I didn't have enough to worry about, now he's mad because I didn't kill him. _Dean was sure that was the crux of the problem. _And what the hell am I supposed to do about it? Say sorry kiddo, next time I'll just put a bullet in your head?_ He gripped the steering wheel and ground his teeth together. _So, on top of everything else, I have that. Just freaking great._

His shoulder was really beginning to throb. He tried shifting again, didn't help. He moved his left leg up a tiny bit and braced his arm against it. Damn it hurt. He knew that he was going to have to stop for the night—as early as it was—or ask Sam to drive. _Neither of which is a great option. Stopping might be best. Sam looks tired, I'll use that as an excuse if I need it._ He was still trying to decide what to do several minutes later.

"Dean?" Sam said suddenly, looking over at him with a slight frown on his face.

"Yeah, Sam?"

"It looks like we're coming up on a town. Would it be ok if we just stopped for the night? You never know how far it will be to the next town out here."

"Sure, Sam, sounds good." He started watching the signs. The first exit with "lodging" he pulled off. They found a small motel, clean, if a little shabby, and got a room for the night. They carried their bags in and Sam offered to walk to the store they had spotted to get food and drinks for the night. Dean watched his brother as he walked slowly away from the motel. _We are going to need to talk about this sometime. We were just getting back on our feet and this happened. What can I do? What can I say?_

Since Sam was at the store that meant Dean got the coveted first shower of the evening. _Good thing too, I can get a look at this wound before Sam's back._ He grabbed his stuff and headed into the bathroom. Getting his shirt off was more trouble than he planned on. The wound had seeped and his t-shirt was stuck firmly to the bandage, and the bandage was glued to his shoulder. _Nice. What is it about my left shoulder, anyway? Someone up there hates it, fire irons, bullets, thumbs—they all get to go into my left shoulder. It'd be nice to balance out the scars. _He laughed at his train of thought, then stopped and looked at himself in the mirror. _Uh oh._ His eyes were a little glassy and his cheeks looked red. _Fever, great._

Once his shirt was off he tugged gently at the bandage underneath. It didn't budge. He tried again, a little harder. He could feel the wound pulling, the gauze tearing the wound open again. He soaked a washcloth with warm water and placed it on the bandage. Once it was thoroughly wet he pulled the bandage off. The wound looked bad. It had a green tinge and the edges were red. He hoped those red streaks were just from removing the bandage, but he really doubted his luck would be that good. _The infection is getting worse. I might need to have Sam help with this. No, I can't tell him, he has enough to cope with—without my telling him he shot me. I'll just do my best._

Once he had showered—_and wow, hot shower and bullet wound, not a great combination—_he carefully redressed the wound. It was still seeping. It actually looked like it was getting worse. He knew his temperature was going up. He had that giddy, slightly nauseous feeling he always got when he had a fever. He found a couple of aspirin and took them before exiting the bathroom.

Sam looked up at him when he came in the room. "Took your own sweet time in there, Dean."

He thought of about a hundred smart remarks, but all he said was "Sorry, I must be tired." Sam looked at him sharply. _Oops. That was enough unlike me for him to think something's wrong. _

"They had fried chicken at the store, I hope that's ok?" Sam said putting food out on the small table.

"Anything sounds good. Thanks," Dean said as he sat down. He bumped his left arm into the table. It hurt so bad tears came to his eyes. He looked down at the food, trying to hide his face from his overly observant brother.

"Yeah, sure," Sam was looking at him. Dean could feel it.

_Just eat your dinner, Sam. Ignore me. _"This isn't bad for grocery store chicken," Dean said. _And am I talking about the food? Yep. I think I just want to talk with Sam. Funny, I miss him when he's quiet._

Sam frowned at him, "Yeah. It's pretty good. Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Is there anything…" He stopped. It looked like he had changed his mind about what he was planning to say. "Is there anything else you want with dinner? I got chips and stuff."

"Thanks. Chips sound good. Did you remember dessert?"

"If M&Ms qualify as dessert." Sam said smiling at him.

_That's the first smile I've seen in a couple of days. Missed that, too. _"Did you notice if the motel has cable?"

"Cable, but not expanded. I think you might miss that metal thing you wanted to see on VH1 Classic. I checked when I got back."

_He did what? _"Too bad. I was looking forward to it, but they'll probably repeat it."

"Yeah, they always do. How many times have you seen 'Heavy the Story of Metal'?"

"Not enough, never enough. That would be like seeing Spinal Tap too many times, just can't happen." Dean said laughing.

"Not sure I'd agree with that. I think more than a thousand is too many times for Spinal Tap."

"Nah, never enough." He smiled at Sam. "I think I'll have dessert in front of the TV." _Because if I don't lie down now he'll have to carry me and he might figure out there's a problem._

"Sure, Dean. I think I'll get in the shower." Sam got up and got his stuff out of his bag and headed to the bathroom.

_If I didn't know better I would think he was trying to give me space. No, he's still mad and we talked too long at dinner, that's more likely what's up. _Dean stood up and walked stiffly to the bed. The aspirin didn't seem to be working very well, he knew his fever was climbing. His arm was throbbing with a steady beat. He was nauseous. The food he had just eaten already threatening to come back. _Damn. I would have gotten medical attention, but it's a bullet wound and they have to report those._

He leaned back in the bed and turned the TV on, trying to keep everything looking normal for Sam's sake. But nothing was normal. Nothing. His brother was pissed at him because Dean refused to kill Sam, even with goading from the demon. His brother had been possessed. The demon wearing Sam's body had killed someone, had shot Dean. _In the middle of a bad year, things just keep getting worse. _Sam's silence hurt him more than anything. Usually they talked things through—as much as Dean pretended he didn't like to talk about stuff—and since that first night, they hadn't mentioned it. Not at all—it was almost like it was just a bad dream, except for the silence and the throbbing wound in Dean's shoulder.

In that silence, the wound went unmentioned. Dean didn't want Sam to know about it, he wanted to protect his brother from that, as long as he could. He didn't want Sam to have to think that he had shot him. _Because he didn't shoot me, the demon shot me, just because it looked like Sam doesn't mean it was Sam. _

Dean shifted in the bed, didn't help. His shoulder seemed to have reached some kind of boiling point. He was feeling worse. Steadily worse. The need to not tell Sam what happened was beginning to conflict with his need of his brother's care. His brother's comfort. _I can't tell him what happened, but I need him. Not just to care for the damn wound. I need Sam. Simple as that. I miss him when he's silent. Those days when he was missing nearly killed me. My fever must be getting fairly high to admit that, even to myself._

He drifted off to sleep before Sam got out of the shower. He thought he heard him come out, but he wasn't really sure. He didn't wake up enough to know one way or the other. The only reason he was even a tiny bit awake was that he was beginning to get chilled. At the edge of his awareness he heard Sam moving around the room. It sounded normal, comforting, he felt warmer and dozed off.

He dreamed. Nightmare and memory becoming intertwined. Sam asking about demons when he was eight or nine. Sam shooting him. Yellow eyes. His eleven year old brother hiding during a hunt. Blood, pain. Sam tied to a chair at Bobby's. Sam begging Dean to kill him. Sam scraping his knee and coming to Dean to fix it. The demon, their father, Sam.

He clawed away from the dream, up through the layer of consciousness. He knew, before he was all the way awake, that he was in trouble. His fever had risen, the pain and throbbing in his arm was almost too much to bear and the smell told him the infection had gone from annoying to deadly serious. In that feverish moment all else was forgotten. He reached out to the one thing he needed, the one thing he knew could help.

"Sam?" Silence from his brother's bed. "Sammy?"

_ To be continued _


	2. Chapter 2

**Walking Wounded**

Chapter 2

Sam quietly closed the bathroom door behind himself. Once in the privacy of that small room he dropped onto the edge of the tub and put his head in his hands. He knew he was not coping. He could hear it in his voice when he talked to Dean, he could see it in his reactions to everything around him. He had spent most of the last three days completely detached from his life, lost in nightmare memories, lost in misery over the results of his actions while he was possessed by the demon.

In those moments when he was not completely removed from himself, he watched Dean. He knew his brother was injured. He hadn't been all the way sure of that injury until yesterday. Sam had purposefully gotten them both large coffees, he wanted to see how Dean would handle driving with a cup of coffee and an injured left shoulder, if the shoulder was indeed injured. Dean held the cup in his right hand and had carefully driven with his left knee, his left hand just brushing the wheel from where it sat on his leg.

Sam knew then. The nightmare memory of pulling the trigger, of Dean's plunge from the pier was real. He knew and he could not forgive himself. _And how can he ever forgive me? That shot was meant to kill, I heard the demon think it so clearly. Heard the satisfaction as it thought it had killed him. But the hand that held the gun, the hand that pulled the trigger was mine. I thought Dean was dead when I looked over the edge of the pier and he was gone. I thought he was dead, and I had killed him._

In one way the thought he had killed his brother had almost been a good thing. Until then he had been awake in his own body, watching as the demon killed, watching as it played with Dean, watching each action, hearing each word. He had even hoped that Dean would listen to the demon and kill him, so Sam could be free of it, know that he could no longer hurt the people he cared about. Or the one person he loved above all others—Dean. But his brother didn't kill him. And the demon had hunted Dean down and found him there on the dock and Sam had shot him and watched him fall, sure he was dead. In that moment, the grief, the loss, was so overwhelming it allowed him to shut down his conscious self and he wouldn't remember anything else until the demon had left him at Bobby's.

He sighed. Dean hadn't mentioned that injury, hadn't asked Sam to look at it, hadn't asked for help dressing it, hadn't done anything about it except hold his arm very still. Sam had been aware of that stillness, had almost mentioned it more than once, but Dean seemed closed off from him. _He has been so silent, even for him. He can't trust me anymore. He doesn't know how to tell me. He said he wants to save me, but how can I save him?_ Sam was trying to care for his brother without having to talk about it. But he was always aware of that stillness, mocking him, reminding him of what he had done.

The fact that Dean had steadfastly refuse to kill him when he was possessed was haunting Sam. He was terrified by what might happen, what he might do. Sam knew that Dean would be the first on the line, the first to go. He had hoped his brother's promise to kill him would be enough, he had felt safe in the knowledge that Dean had given his word. Now Sam was unsure of that promise. _Could he really do it? He let me hurt Jo, let me shoot him. All because he wants to save me, but can he save himself? Will he even try or will he let me…_He couldn't finish the thought.

He turned around a got the water running. _Might as well get a hot shower. Not that it matters. Doesn't change anything._ The water was soothing. It eased the ache in his head and the tight muscles in his back and neck. It let him think clearly. He knew what he had to do. _It's the only way I can save Dean. The only way._

He got out of the shower and opened the door. Dean was asleep. The top blanket had slipped onto the floor. Sam walked over and pulled it gently over his brother. Dean sighed and seemed to drop into a deeper sleep. Sam quietly packed his things in his bag and picked up the pad of paper and a pen from the table next to the phone.

_Dean, I know you will be angry… _He crossed that out, of course Dean will be angry. I don't need to add fuel to the fire. _Dean, I don't know what to do… _He crossed that out, too. He knew what to do, he was doing it. He was leaving. Ok, one more time. _Dean, please don't try and find me this time. I'm sorry for what happened. I know you can't forgive me, I can't forgive myself. I am doing this for you, I can't hurt you again. I won't let it happen. Please, don't come looking for me, please. Love, Sam._

Sam put the note carefully down on the table by Dean's bed. He picked up his pack and slipped silently from the room out into the cold night. He closed the door behind him.

He made it as far as the Impala. He put his hand against the car, sensing Dean through the cold metal. He couldn't go on. He slid down the door and leaned against it. _I can't run away from him again. How many times have I left? How many times? And he always comes for me, always understands. If I leave this time will he understand? He will look for me and, knowing Dean, he will find me. And knowing I am a coward, knowing I ran, he will hate me._

Sam banged his head against the car door. The night was silent. The sound of the distant highway muted in the cold night. When had he run the first time? He'd been what thirteen? He and dad had a fight and he had decided to run. He hadn't gotten far that time, either. In fact he had made it only to the car. The smell of the Impala, the cold of the night, transported him back to that night so long ago, when he was thirteen—when he decided to leave.

_He'd been hiding in the car for about half an hour when the door was wrenched open. Dean got in. Sam wondered how his brother had gotten there. He knew Dean had gone out with friends that night and left the car behind. Dean was angry, angrier than Sam had ever seen him. His brother seemed to be actually shaking, trying to keep his anger under control. _

"_Sammy, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Dean said, his voice under control, but Sam knew he was mad. "Dad called in a panic, said you'd taken off."_

"_We had a big fight, Dean. I just thought it would be better if I wasn't around." He was trying not to cry in front of his big brother._

"_What are you thinking?" Even though he was keeping his voice carefully calm, Dean was very angry, Sam could see it in his eyes._

"_I don't know. We fight all the time anymore and then you get involved and it's not good." Sam struggled to keep his voice as calm as possible. "I don't want to be the thing between you and dad. I don't want you to have to get involved in our fights anymore."_

"_Sammy…"_

"_No Dean," he said feeling a little brave. Trying to keep his resolve. "I don't fit in, you know, I just don't and dad knows it and you know it and I know it. This way you don't have to worry about me anymore."_

"_Sammy…" His brother started again._

"_See, I even ruined your night out. I got into it with dad and he called you and you had to come back. I know you were looking forward to tonight, Dean. I'm sorry about that." He saw Dean take a deep breath, but he plowed on. "I can go stay with someone, a friend or something and you will be free of me, Dean. You won't fight with dad about me, dad won't have to worry, you won't have to worry. I'll be gone." The tears he'd been trying to hold back started flowing. He tried to stop, he didn't want Dean to see him cry. "And you're angry with me," Sam said through the tears, "I get that Dean and I don't want you to be angry with me, I don't want you to hate me."_

"_Hate?" His brother said. Sam thought there must be something wrong, Dean suddenly looked so sad._

"_Yeah."_

"_Ah, Sammy," Dean reached over and gently brushed the tears off Sam's face. "How can you…" he cleared his throat. Sam thought he saw the sparkle of tears in Dean's eyes—no, Dean never cried. _

"_It's true, Dean and this way you don't have to worry about me anymore."_

_Dean put his hands on Sam's shoulders and gave him a gentle shake. "Listen to me, little brother. Just listen, ok?" Sam nodded, there was a tear on Dean's cheek. "If you leave dad will worry, he will blame himself. If you leave, Sammy, I will worry about you every second of every day until I can find you again. Do you understand? If it took forever to find you, I would worry every day. And if anything happened to you, I would never be able to forgive myself."_

"_But Dean, you're so angry with me—you were shaking."_

"_I was out of my mind with worry, Sammy. I was afraid for you. I thought you were gone, I didn't know what to do," another tear. "I didn't know you were in the car, I was coming out to take it and go look for you."_

"_But Dean…" _

"_No, Sammy, it's my turn to talk. I know you fight with dad. I know it's hard on you—it's hard on him, too, you know. If I get between you and dad it's my choice, ok? But never think that it would be better if you weren't here. Never think it would be easier for me. Because it wouldn't."_

"_Dean, I'm sorry." Sam was watching another tear trickle its way down his brother's cheek. Was Dean crying? Sam didn't know what to say, he leaned forward against Dean, he felt his brother's arms go around him._

"_Don't do this to me again, kiddo. Ok?" Dean said quietly. "Please, Sammy, don't do this to me again." Sam had started sobbing, Dean held him, gently, firmly, until his tears stopped. They had gone back into the motel room together. As he sat watching TV with his brother he knew Dean was right—they were better off together._

A distant sound, a horn on the highway, pulled Sam back to the present. He sighed and pulled himself up, leaning on the car as the blood rushed back into his legs. He wiped the tears off his face and picked up his bag. He couldn't leave Dean again. He had to go back. He opened the door to the room and noticed an odd smell, he thought he recognized it, but couldn't place it.

"Sam?" Dean said, barely a whisper, "Sammy?" More urgently.

"Dean? What is it?" He said walking to his brother's bed. Dean's face was red, he opened his eyes and looked at Sam.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah, Dean."_ What do I say? Can I start this conversation?_

"I think we've got a problem," he said weakly.

There was something wrong. The redness in Dean face and the glassy look in his eyes worried Sam. He put his hand on his brother's forehead. "My god, Dean you're burning up." _His shoulder, it must be the shoulder, I have to look at it. _He pulled the blanket down so he could see his brother's arm. There was a growing wet patch on Dean's shoulder. Sam grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the shirt away. He pulled the bandage off—and panicked. _Oh my god, oh no, no, no. _"Dean…"

"Yep. That's the problem."

_To Be Continued_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing! I would like to thank __yasmine32068 for her information and reminding me that Sam would figure it out if he needed!_

**Walking Wounded**

Chapter Three

Sam was staring at his brother's shoulder. The wound looked horrific, he couldn't think of any other word to describe it. He recognized the smell now, too. He also knew he was close to complete panic. The wound was red, oozing and the red streaks marking Dean's skin terrified him. It was considerably more than a problem. "Dean, I need to get you to a hospital."

"You can't, Sammy." Dean said softly, looking at him with compassion in those fevered eyes. Sam wondered what that look meant. "It's a bullet wound. They'd have to report it. You can take care of it." Dean said with confidence in his shaky voice.

_He trusts me? Still trusts me? _"Dean, I can't. This is bad, really bad."

"You're just saying that cause it's all Christmas-y."

"What are you talking about?"

"Red and green, you know," Dean laughed a little. Sam could see him grimace in pain as he moved his shoulder.

"Damn it, Dean, this isn't funny." _What do I do? What do I do?_

"It's a little funny."

"Not really." _I should get a better look at it. I need to know what's going on. _He walked around the bed and sat carefully at Dean's left side. "I need to poke at it, it'll hurt."

"Poking usually does." Dean closed his eyes. "Go ahead, Sam."

Sam gently touched the edge of the wound, the green crust pulled back from the skin and pus came out, a lot of it. Sam gagged, the smell was terrible. The wound was hot, even hotter than Dean's forehead. _I can try cleaning it, see how bad it actually is. I don't know how it was taken care of, it might just need to be cleaned. _Somewhere inside a voice told him he was delusional, that the wound was far beyond his skill, far beyond his ability to help. He pulled his hand away, he saw Dean relax a tightly clenched jaw.

"Well?" Dean said looking at him.

"I'm going to try cleaning it. Maybe that's all it needs. I'm going out to get the first aid kit, I'll be right back." Sam walked out to the car. His heart was pounding. He grabbed the first aid kit out of the trunk, he noticed his hands were shaking. _I did this to him. He didn't trust me enough to mention it and now…_

When Sam got back into the room Dean's eyes were closed again. "Sam?" He said without opening them.

"Yeah, just me. I'm going to take you in the bathroom to clean it. That way the bed'll stay dry."

"Minimize the stink, too."

_That's my brother, always practical. _Sam carried the first aid kit into the bathroom and laid out everything he thought he would need. He grabbed the extra towels and washcloths. "Are you ready?" He said coming back into the room. _He looks terrible._

Dean swallowed, "Let's get this over with." He levered himself up with his right arm—well almost, Sam caught him before he fell back against the headboard. Dean smiled his thanks. Sam managed to get him mostly to his feet and into the bathroom. He set him down on the floor, leaning against the tub. Dean watched as he ran the sink full of hot water and soaked a couple of washcloths.

Sam pulled one of the cloths out of the sink and squeezed a little water out of it. "Ready?" Dean just nodded, closing his eyes. Sam put the cloth on the wound, Dean jerked and grunted a little. "Dean?"

"I'm ok."

_No you're not, far from it._ Sam took that cloth away and put a fresh one over the wound. He wanted to soften the scab as much as possible. One lesson, drilled into him by their father, was to always be gentle with a wound, never tug, never pull on it. Don't do anything that might make it worse. He was thankful for all those lessons now. They had saved his brother's life more than once. _And he's saved mine._ Another cloth and one more.

"Dean?"

"Still here, Sammy." Dean opened one eye and smiled at him, if that half grimace could be called a smile.

Sam was hesitating. His hands were shaking and he was a little nauseous. He wished he could blame it on squeamishness. But he wasn't squeamish, no, the problem was he knew he was responsible for this. _It's my fault. I shot him. I did this. And he didn't trust me enough anymore to mention it. He let it get this way. I should have said something. I should have been more aware._

"Sammy?" He looked up, Dean was watching him. He put his right hand on Sam's arm. "Are you ok?"

Sam laughed, it came out sounding a little crazed, a little wild. "What?" He looked at Dean, his brother was frowning at him in concern. "I'm fine Dean."

"You don't sound fine." His eyes drifted closed again, he squeezed Sam's arm and dropped his hand back down. "You need to get to work on that while it's still soft."

Sam ground his teeth together. He knew this was going to hurt his brother. He didn't want to hurt Dean, not again. Every time he turned around lately he seemed to be hurting Dean. _Maybe I should have left._ He started cleaning the wound, it was deeper than he had thought. _It's a bullet wound, of course it's deep._ It was a mess, whoever had cared for it had a butcher's hand. _ Probably Jo. _It was also far more infected than he had thought. _I wonder if someone used peroxide on this. _

Dean was fighting to keep his muscles from tensing too much, trying to stay relaxed. Sam dug deeper into the wound, Dean groaned. "Sorry." Sam said softly. Dean kind of nodded, his eyes screwed shut, his jaw clenched. "Only a little more, Dean." Sam said, trying to keep his voice even. He steeled himself for the last bit. He felt Dean tense then abruptly relax, his head rolled to the side. "Dean!" he put an unsteady hand against his brother's neck. Dean's heart was still beating, if a little too fast for Sam's liking, but still beating. _He's fainted. I can finish and get him back to bed before he comes out of it, if I'm lucky._

He managed to get the wound clean and a dry dressing on it before his luck ran out. Dean's eyes fluttered open just before Sam tried picking him up. "Sam?"

"All done, Dean, let's get you back to bed."

"Thirsty."

"As soon as you're back in bed, ok?"

"Ok," Dean pushed against the floor with his right hand. He looked up at Sam, "I need your help." He held his right hand out. Sam locked his hand around Dean's elbow and pulled him to his feet. Dean fell against him. He got an arm around Dean's waist and helped him out the door and back to bed. Once Dean was settled he pulled the blankets over his brother. "Still thirsty, Sam."

"I'll get you some water," he went in to bathroom and filled a cup with cold water. His hands were still shaking. Dean had felt so hot and Sam could feel his heart pounding as he helped him to bed. _This is serious, what do I do?_

"Sam?"

"Coming, Dean." He sat down on the edge of the bed and handed Dean the cup. His brother took a sip and handed it back to him.

"Thanks, Sammy." He patted Sam on the leg and smiled. He was relaxing. Sam thought—hoped—he might be going to sleep

"Sure, Dean, get some rest. Ok?" Dean nodded drowsily and was quiet. Sam sat on the bed until Dean was asleep. As soon as he was sure his brother was asleep he gently put a hand on Dean's chest. He wanted to check his temperature, he wanted to check his heartbeat, he needed the contact with his brother. He sat that way for a long moment. Dean was so hot, his heart was beating too hard, too fast, but still that contact calmed Sam. It centered him, it allowed him to think a little more clearly.

He got off the bed and pulled his computer out. He needed to know what to do, Dean was feverish, the wound was already seeping again. That heartbeat worried him. He had to know. He opened the net and typed in "blood poisoning" he knew that wasn't a medical term, but the search engine came through anyway. He found several websites, and opened each. The first couple were mostly crap. The next was better, but it didn't make him feel any more confident about the situation.

"_Septicemia is a potentially fatal, rapidly progressing disease. There is a seventeen to twenty-five percent mortality rate. As the disease progresses septic shock…the prognosis worsens…approximately half of all patients with septic shock die…. Should seek medical care immediately. Symptoms include fever, chills. rapid pounding heartbeat, confusion, rapid breathing, warm flushed skin. Can be caused by wounds, burns or other infection."_

Sam looked over at his brother, watching him sleep. He got up and sat back down next to Dean. He put his hand down on the overly hot chest again. Dean's heart was pounding, Sam counted the beats against the second hand on his watch. _Too fast, too fast and his breathing is too fast. _He sighed, chewing on his bottom lip. Seventeen to twenty-five percent mortality rate. Those were not really good odds when dealing with something like this. _Is he that sick? Or am I just over compensating because I'm responsible? Because I feel guilty?_

Sam stood and grabbed the phone book off the table. He checked Dean one more time and walked outside the room to place the call. If Dean was asleep he didn't want to wake him, and he hoped the cold would help clear his head. He walked out to the Impala and put the book down on the hood. He flipped it open and breathed a sigh of relief when he found a twenty-four hour "nurse hotline." He debated with himself for a second or two, but what harm would it be to call. He carefully dialed the number.

"Nurse hotline, can I help you?" A woman with a very pleasant voice answered. Sam paused. "Hello? Is there someone there?"

"Yeah, I, uh, have a question. My brother just got back from hunting with friends. Something happened—he took a fall or something I guess and he has a bad wound in his shoulder. I think it's pretty badly infected." _Thanks to Jo it doesn't look like a bullet wound anymore—it looks like someone hacked at it with a chainsaw._

"Do you know when it happened?"

"Four days ago, that's what they said."

"And can you tell me about it?"

"Yeah, I tried to clean it but…" and Sam told her. He described Dean's symptoms, told her how the wound looked, mentioned the oozing, the fever.

"You need to get him to the hospital as soon as you can."

"Are you sure?"

"I can't diagnose over the phone, but I think he needs to get care." Sam still hesitated. "Look," she said earnestly, "Your brother is dangerously ill, if you don't get him in, and soon, it will be very serious."

"Can you give me directions to the hospital?" She told him how to get there. He hung up and leaned against the car. _No matter what he says_ _he has to go, he might be dying. _

"SAM!" Dean was yelling from the doorway. "SAMMY!" He stumbled out of the room. "SAMMY!" Dean sounded desperate, scared. "SAM!"

Sam raced over and caught him before he fell. "Dean what is it? You shouldn't be out of bed."

"Sam?"

"Yeah, Dean."

"Sammy?" He sounded close to tears, there was a desperate edge to his voice.

"Dean, it's ok. What's wrong?" Sam was trying to keep calm, it wasn't working very well. There was something seriously wrong with his brother. Dean had a piece of paper in his right hand. _Oh, my god. It's the note, he found the note, he thought I'd left him again._ "I'm here Dean, it's ok."

"I thought you were gone."

"No, Dean. No."

"I thought…" Sam watched his brother's careful control slipping, the fever, the wound, the illness filling his body made him vulnerable. A tear rolled down his cheek.

"No, Dean. I'm here." Sam carefully pulled him up and against him, it was almost a hug. "It's good you came out. I need to get you into the car." He said lightly, trying to diffuse his brother's fear.

"No car, Sam." Dean's voice was sounding slurred.

"Yes Dean, car. You need to trust me."

Dean looked at him, his eyes not quite focused. "Trust you, Sammy?" He seemed confused.

"Yes, please, Dean, just trust me if you can."

"Sam, I…" He seemed about to say something else, but his body gave out first. He blacked out, collapsing in Sam's arms. Sam picked him up and carried him to the car, putting him carefully in the passenger seat. He broke every speed limit on his way to the hospital, glad he had asked for directions. As soon as he was there he ran in. "My brother—he's in the car. Please help him."

They brought Dean in and Sam watched as they wheeled him down the hall—away from him. Someone brought him forms to fill out. He filled them out with false information, with the story he made up about Dean's wound, in case the nurse hotline reported calls. He gave them insurance cards. _He doesn't trust me, this is all my fault. If he dies, what will I do? If he doesn't die what can I say? How can I fix this? Can I fix this?_

He looked down the hallway where they had taken his brother. _How long will I have to wait?_ _Any time is too long. Why hasn't someone come out? _Sam began pacing. He knew he wasn't coping well. He hadn't been and now this. _In the middle of a bad year things just keep getting worse._ The emergency room was quiet. Finally he heard footsteps, he turned and saw a young doctor in cranberry colored scrubs approaching.

"How is my brother?" Sam said. "When can I see him?"

The doctor looked at him with that look of calm compassion that the medical profession reserved for breaking the worst news. "It's not good, son." Part of Sam smiled at that—the doctor was probably only a little older than Dean. "The infection is very advanced. We are taking him up to ICU. Once he's settled, you can sit with him."

Sam watched him walk away. _What have I done? _He was still standing there—it could have been minutes or hours later, he wasn't sure—when a small woman in scrubs walked up to him.

"Are you Sam?"

He looked down, "Yes?"

"Your brother has been asking for you.

"He's awake?" That sounded hopeful. If Dean was awake, maybe it wasn't as bad as Sam had thought—as bad as the doctor thought.

"He's in and out." She smiled at him with that calm compassion. "I'll take you up to the room."

Sam followed her through the hospital. It was surprisingly empty. Most of the hospitals he'd been in seemed to always be full of people going somewhere. Nurse, doctors, visitors, all on a mission. The ICU ward was even quieter. Sam could hear the nurses talking softly at their station. The small woman led him to a room at the corner of the ward.

Dean's bed was screened from the door by a curtain. Sam stepped around it. Heart monitor, oxygen, IVs, Dean on the bed. _How many times do I have to go through this? How many times do I have to see him hurt like this? How many times before my heart just gives out? _Dean's face was still flushed, he seemed to be struggling against sleep. Trying to stay awake for some reason.

Sam walked over the bed. He put his hand on Dean's arm. His brother stilled with that contact. Dean was so hot—he was burning up. "Dean?"

His brother's eyes opened. "Sammy?" There was very little strength in his voice.

"Yeah, Dean, I'm here."

"I don't feel good," Dean said.

"I know. I'm sorry." _Sorry for so much, so very much. _He was trying to keep it together for Dean's sake. Trying to make it as normal as possible for his brother. But nothing was normal. Nothing. Dean was here because Sam had shot him, because he had hidden his injury. But Sam tried to make it ok, he smiled at Dean.

"You're not mad at me?" Dean said looking at him, his eyes glassy, feverish, confused.

"What?" _What is he talking about?_

"You're not mad at me?" He repeated, pleading, needing the answer.

"Of course not. Why would I be mad at you Dean?"

"I couldn't…mad at me because I wouldn't…can't if you're mad at me." Dean was sliding out of consciousness. Sam was terrified. That can't if you're mad sounded a lot like "can't go" if you're mad.

Sam tightened his grip on Dean's arm. "Look at me Dean, come on, open your damn eyes." His brother's eyelids fluttered. Sam thought he heard something begin beeping, an urgent sound, but his whole focus was on his brother. "Damn it Dean! Do you hear me!? Dean!" He was shouting. A nurse came in and shoved him aside.

"You need to step outside for a minute." She pushed him on the other side of the curtain. Another nurse and a doctor rushed into the room. Sam was pulled out of the room and they closed the door.

"What's happening?" He ran to the nurses' station. "What's happening? Is he ok?" He turned back to the closed door. _What's happening?_

_To Be Continued_


	4. Chapter 4

**Walking Wounded**

Chapter Four

Sam was sitting in the ICU ward, waiting. Still waiting. He'd been waiting forever. He watched as people went in and out of his brother's room, some rushing, some just walking, all with that look of medical concern on their face. No one had come over to talk with him. He watched the minutes tick by on the clock over the nurses desk. It hadn't been as long as it seemed. _Of course, it would be hard for it to actually be forever, it's only been fifteen minutes. _He put his face in his hands. _How did this happen? How did I let this happen? Why couldn't I stop this? Why couldn't I keep the demon from hurting Dean? He would have been able to stop it, Dean wouldn't have let it happen._

"Mr. Halford?" Sam looked up. It was the teenage doctor in cranberry scrubs again.

"Yes?"

"We've stabilized your brother for now," Sam let out a sigh of relief. _Thank god. _ "But he is not responding to treatment. There is the likelihood that septic shock is setting in." _No, no, no. Half of all patients…No. _"Dr. Miles and I have discussed it and we believe surgery is the only option to clean the wound and excise the necrotic flesh. He needs to have the wound drained. You said this was a hunting accident of some sort?"

_Hunting of some sort, yeah. That's kind of funny, I'll have to tell Dean that one. _"Yeah, that's what his friends said." _Oh no, do they know it's a bullet wound? What do I say?_

"Whatever he fell on did a lot of damage. Do you know if it was treated before he got back?"

"I don't know—they probably tried something," Sam said trying to maintain the fiction he had created.

"He's lucky they didn't do more," the doctor said smiling without humor. "We are clearing an OR for him as quickly as possible. You can go back, stay with him until he goes in for surgery. He's lightly sedated because of the respirator…"

"Respirator?" Sam said, his voice sounded rough, frightened, even to him. _No, Dean, come on._

"Yes, of course," the doctor looked at him with the calm compassion. "I'll let you know how the surgery goes. The nurse will show you surgical waiting room."

Sam walked, actually stumbled, back to Dean's room. He walked around the curtain. _Oh, god Dean._ It was like a bad dream, Dean on the respirator, the IVs, the heart monitor, all of it. A nightmare that he kept living over and over again. _How many more times? How many?_

He stood by Dean's bed. "They told me you needed surgery. They are going to take you here in a minute. I'll stay with you as long as they'll let me," he said, pretending his brother was awake, pretending it could be a conversation. "This is a mess, dude. You're a mess. Damn it, Dean." He scrubbed his hands across his face. The new dressing over the wound was already wet, discolored, oozing green. Dean's face was still red. Sam put his hand on his brother's arm, he was still fevered. _Damn it. _

"I don't know what to say, Dean. I don't know how to fix this. I thought leaving would solve it, but it won't, will it?" He stopped when a nurse came in, he watched as she checked Dean's vitals. She didn't look happy with what she was seeing. She smiled at Sam before she left. _All that compassion is beginning to worry me. _

"You asked me if I was mad at you. I think I am, Dean. Why the hell didn't you tell me you'd been hurt, that it was getting bad? Why didn't you ask for my help?" He heard the anger in his voice, felt the pain in his chest. "Why, Dean? Even if you don't trust me, you could've asked…before it got like this. I can't believe you let that wound fester like that." _I've let a wound or two fester over these last few days, how can I blame him?_ "I can't go on like this, man, I can't. If you die Dean, I'll never forgive you. Never, do you hear me?" He broke off, swallowing back a sob and looked down at his brother. "Dean?" There were tears on his brother's face. "Dean, can you hear me? Can you hear me? Dean?"

A nurse came in, fussing around, moving things, unplugging things, "We need to take him to surgery."

"Can I walk with him? Please? As far as I can?" He didn't want to leave Dean, didn't want to leave it like that.

"Of course," she smiled, calm compassion. _The next person who gives me that look will die violently. Wow, that sounded like Dean._ Sam put his hand back on Dean's arm as the wheeled the bed through the hallways. They finally stopped by a set of doors. "You can't go any further, I'm sorry."

"Dean?" He leaned over the bed. "You come through this, ok? I'll be waiting out here. I didn't mean to yell at you. I'm sorry. Just come through."

He watched Dean disappear behind the door. _He could hear me. And I yelled at him, I told him I'd never forgive him. I'll never forgive myself. Damn it. Does this feeling of helplessness ever go away? Is it something about hospitals?_ He sighed and followed the signs to the waiting room. It smelled like stale coffee and bad perfume. He nodded at a woman sitting across the room, she nodded back, the brief camaraderie of the waiting room. He'd learned that lesson well over the years, along with the waiting, the fear, the helplessness.

_He'd been twelve the first time Dean had been seriously injured. At least the first time he was actually cognizant of the fact his brother was in danger. He'd known something was wrong when—after a weekend at a friend's birthday sleepover—his father, not Dean, had come to pick him up._

"_Where's Dean?" He had asked his father as he got in the car._

"_We were hunting this weekend, Sammy."_

"_I know, dad," there was something in the way his father said that, something in the way he was sitting there with his shoulders hunched. "What's wrong?"_

"_Your brother's been hurt, Sammy."_

"_Did he break his leg again? Is that why he's not driving?" Since Dean had gotten the Impala nothing could keep him out of it. Sam suspected that he slept in the car sometimes, just to make sure it was ok. He'd told Dean that and his brother had laughed and punched him gently on the arm._

"_No, he didn't break his leg," his father said softly._

"_Dad? Dad what's wrong?" He looked out the window, they weren't headed back to the motel they'd been calling home for three months. "Where are we going?"_

"_The hospital," his father paused. "Sammy…"_

"_Dad? What is it?" He knew, then, that something was terribly wrong._

"_Your brother's in pretty bad shape," he looked over, Sam could see the beginnings of tears in his father's eyes. _

"_Dad?" He was frightened, Sam unbuckled his seatbelt and slid next to him. His father put his arm over Sam's shoulders. The rest of the drive was silent. Sam was to afraid to ask, and his father didn't seem to want to say, how badly Dean was hurt._

_The hospital was bright and busy. The smell of flowers in the lobby made Sam a little sick. All he could think about was the look on his father's face. John Winchester, a man who seemed invincible, untouchable, was afraid and Sam knew that the fear was for Dean, he was frightened for his brother. Hospitals, he thought, smelled like fear. His legs were getting heavier the closer he got to Dean's room. They stopped outside an anonymous door, there were signs—notes—on the wall beside the door. Sam couldn't read them, his eyes wouldn't focus. He hadn't really believed it, had thought it was just a mistake or a cruel joke, until he was standing there. He knew Dean was behind that door_.

"_Sammy? I'm going to talk to the doctor, you wait right here." His father walked away, over to a tall man in a white coat._

_Sam stood outside the door for a moment longer. He needed to see Dean. He couldn't wait any more. He pushed the door open—it was surprisingly heavy. Dean was alone in the room. There were machines beeping and hissing, an IV pole stood beside the bed—the tube snaking down, blood red, into his brother's arm. Dean's eyes were closed._

_He almost ran—away from that room, away from his brother, so still on the bed—but he couldn't. His big brother looked so small on that bed. He walked over to the bed and put his hand in Dean's. It felt a little cold. "Dean? It's Sammy. I'm here." He held onto Dean's hand. "Dean?" He felt like crying, but he needed to be brave for Dean._

_Dean's hand tightened marginally on his, "Sammy?" He didn't open his eyes._

"_Yeah, Dean, I'm here."_

"_You ok?" _

"_Yeah, I'm ok." He wondered why his brother was asking._

"_Good. I need to know you're ok." Dean said, sounding like he had to wait for an exhale for each word. "I need you to promise me…"_

"_What, Dean? Anything!"_

"_Promise you…will…listen…to…dad, ok?" Dean opened his eyes. _

"_Sure."_

"_Don't…fight…him…all…the…time."_

"_Yeah, Dean." Sam suddenly realized what his brother was asking, what he meant. "No! You'll be fine. Dean, you'll be ok."_

"_Just…" Dean's eyes closed again. His grip on Sam's hand loosened."…In case, Sammy."_

"_Dean!" He yelled his brother's name._

"_Sammy what are you doing in here?" His father said running into the room. "I told you to wait."_

"_I had to see Dean." Sam said looking him. His father's eyes were red, his face streaked with tears._

"_I told you to wait, Sammy." His father was angry_

"_Dad, I had to see…" Sam shouted_

"_You need to listen when I tell you…" His father shouted back._

"_Don't," barely audible from the bed. They turned to Dean. "Please, don't," he said, hardly more than a whisper._

_Sam put his hand back in Dean's, "I'm sorry, Dean. I promise."_

"_Promise what?" His father was still angry._

"_Promise we won't fight, dad," Sam said. "He asked me to promise."_

_Sam watched as his father walked over the other side of the bed. He put his hand gently on Dean's head. "I promise, too, son."_

"_Good," Dean sighed and his hand relaxed. Sam looked up, he was crying, his father was crying, too. They sat with Dean until visiting hours were over. They were silent as they left. They were silent when they got home. His father had him excused from school, knowing Sam wouldn't be able to do anything while Dean was there. They kept their promise, they didn't fight again, at least not until Dean was out of danger._

"Mr. Halford?"

Sam blinked, coming back to the hospital, back to the present. "Yes? How is he?"

"He came through surgery. He'll be in recovery for awhile before we take him back to his room. It'll be an hour or so."

"Thank you, where can I get a cup of coffee?"

"Café, downstairs at the end of the hall."

"Thanks," he said again and went looking for coffee. He took his time, trying to fill the minutes until Dean was back in his room. He managed to waste half an hour before he went back upstairs. The nurses smiled at him, calm compassion. _That's it, I'm killing them. I've had enough of that damn look._

"You're brother hasn't come back yet. You should go home and get some sleep."

"No."

"Even when he's back, he won't know you're here."

"Yes he will."

"Mr. Halford," she smiled, Sam could hear the _tsk tsk_ in her voice.

_She's going to die for that look. Why can't they stop that look? _"No, I'm not leaving. I left my father for only a minute…" He couldn't go on. "He'll know I'm here." Sam sat down to wait.

The doctor found him there, waiting. Still waiting. "We cleaned out the wound. It has a drain in it, that should help."

"Should?"

"As I said, he is not responding well to treatment."

"What does that mean exactly?" Sam said—he heard the anger and frustration in his voice. _I did this, this is my fault. _

"He is not responding." The doctor said and turned away. Sam was tempted to follow, tempted to grab him and demand an explanation, but he didn't want to hear more, he didn't want to know.

About forty-five minutes later he saw them wheel Dean back into his room. He got up and followed. Dean's shoulder had a bulky bandage on it. He was pale. He was still on the respirator. Sam sank down into the chair by the bed. He put his head in his hands. Waiting, again. _If he wakes up—when—he wakes up I need to talk to him. I need to tell him what happened. What I remember. If I had before, maybe he could have trusted me enough so it didn't get like this. I shouldn't have shut him out. I was so wrapped up in my own misery, licking my own wounds, that I let this happen to Dean. Why did he think I was angry with him? He should be angry with me. _

One hour. "You know Dean, the nurse is pretty good looking. Remember that CNA when you were sixteen? She was hot, she liked you, too. Didn't you try and take her out?" He laughed a little and patted Dean's arm. _Funny I remember that at all, mostly what I remember is being terrified that every time I left you were going to die while I was gone._

Two hours. "I checked the car, it's ok. I made sure that nothing happened on the way here, I wasn't really paying attention to the drive, but we all got here in one piece." _Well, the Impala and I got here in one piece, you're a mess._

Three hours, "The TV here is even worse than the hotel. I can only find basic network programming. They are running one of those annoying cooking shows on PBS, but it is the best choice out of everything. You need to get up so we can find some decent TV." _Please Dean, please wake up soon._

Four hours. "This has got to be one of the most boring hospitals you've ever been in. No ambulances coming and going, not many nurses, bad TV. We should plan ahead and make sure the hospitals we end up at are more interesting." _Actually Dean, let's just skip the hospitals from now on. My heart can't take the waiting like this._

Then five hours. "You think you've been doing this long enough, now? I'm a little sick of all this waiting around, you know." Sam said, starting yet another conversation. He watched as the nurse came in to check on Dean, she came in three times an hour, Sam mostly ignored her. "I can't do this much longer, man, my heart's about ready to give out. Dean, please." He broke off. The nurse was looking up at the monitor beside the bed. "What's wrong?" He demanded. He heard it then, the heartbeat was accelerating. The regular beep was giving way to something erratic.

"He's fighting the sedation." She stopped. "He's going to crash."

"Dean, no. You don't get to do this." He grabbed Dean's hand. "You just stay here, do you hear me Dean?"

_Dean, damn it. That's it—my heart just gave out._

_To Be Continued_


	5. Chapter 5

**Walking Wounded**

Chapter Five

Dean was floating. It was warm, comfortable. _Sammy must have gotten his hands on some pretty high-powered drugs for this feeling. _He knew he wasn't anywhere close to awake, still dreaming in a warm lake. He couldn't feel his body at all. _Which is weird, really weird. _He could hear something—raspy, labored. _Is that me? Am I snoring? Sammy'll kill me. _Other sounds. Someone was talking to him, maybe. He just floated there, disconnected from himself, disconnected from the world. There were still those sounds, he couldn't quite make them out, he tried to focus.

"My heart's about to give out, man. Please Dean." That was Sam. He could hear the fear in his brother's voice. There was something wrong. He struggled against the floating sensation, clawing his way away from the warm lake, towards his brother's voice. His heart was pounding wildly. Dean started choking. There was something lodged in his throat. He couldn't breath.

"He's fighting the sedation, he's going to crash."

"Dean no, you don't get to do this." Sam's voice, terrified. "You just stay here, do you hear me, Dean?" _What? Sammy are you ok? Wait, there was a note, wasn't there? Sam's gone, that can't be Sam. _He felt himself slipping back down, he tried to fight it for a moment, but then _Sam's gone, _and the dark won out. There was no sound, no sensation, just silence.

He was floating again, aware, but not quite. He could hear sounds around him. The raspy sound, something was beeping. _I'm in a hospital. How did I get here? Sam. He must have brought me in. Why? My shoulder. Something was wrong with it, I think. I wasn't feeling really good._

"How long will he have to be on the respirator?" A voice, tired, weary, afraid. _Sammy?_

"We're not sure. If he starts responding to treatment…" Another voice, official.

"How long till we know?" _Sam sounds like he's been crying or something. Are they talking about me?_

"We can't be sure, I'm sorry."

"Thanks," there was silence for a minute. Then Sam's voice again. "That look they all give me is driving me nuts, Dean. I've been amusing myself picturing fun ways to wipe it off their faces. Fun, violent and bloody ways to wipe it off their face." _That sounded like Sam's voice, but it didn't really sound like Sam. _He heard his brother sigh.

"Damn it Dean, you need to come back, man." _Come back? From where? What's wrong, Sam? "_I'm getting sick of this hospital, you know." _Well, you brought me here, little brother. _"I need you to try and get better, Dean." _What is he talking about? What's wrong? _"Please Dean, come on, I need you here, dude." There was exhaustion and fear in his brother's voice. He tried to reach Sam, he couldn't, something was holding him back. _I think I'm drugged._ He fought harder. He needed to get to Sam, he needed Sam.

"Dean! No! Relax. Come on, don't fight it. Just stay relaxed." Sam said. Dean started choking again. _What did they say? I'm on a respirator? Is that what's choking me? _

"He started choking, help him!" Sam sounded terrified again. Dean knew they'd given him something, he felt the warm dark reaching out to him again. _Sam? _"It's ok," his brother's voice. "Just work on getting better and they'll take you off that damn thing." Sam's voice faded into the dark.

"I think I might be running out of things to say," Sam's voice again. _How long has it been, Sam?_ "I don't know what to say to the doctor or the nurses anymore. They come in here and tell me…" Sam stopped, he cleared his throat. "But I told them they were wrong, you know? They have to be wrong, Dean. Do you hear me?" Sam sighed. Dean was worried, he could hear that Sam was near his breaking point. He could hear desperation in his brother's voice.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me?" Sam sounded angry. "How could you let that wound get like that?" _I didn't want you to know, Sammy. I wanted to protect you. _"You can't die. I won't let you, Dean," Sam's voice broke. "Please don't give up, Dean. Please." _I thought you were angry with me, Sam. I'm so sorry. How could I let that happen to you? I couldn't save you from the demon. I couldn't find you. I was terrified, Sam. I thought I'd lost you, I thought you'd left. I can't lose you, Sam, that's not an option, you know. If I were awake, I think I might cry, and how sick am I to admit that?_

"Dean? Dean, can you hear me?" Something feather-light touched Dean's face. "Hey, man, it's ok."

_Doesn't sound ok, Sammy. It doesn't sound ok at all. _He could hear the heart monitor beeping. _That doesn't sound good. Is that me?_

"Dean, you need to hang on. You just relax, ok? I'm going to call the nurse, but it's going to be ok." He heard Sam leave the room, heard him talking to someone. "I think he can hear me."

"That's impossible, Mr. Halford," _Halford? Good one, Sam. _"He can't hear you. I know you want to think that, but it's impossible. You need to accept that he is not…"

"Don't say it. He'll be ok." Sam was angry with her, Dean could hear it. _Good thing it's Sam there and not me, I would have thrown her out the window for that. What does she mean, anyway?_

"He's not responding to treatment, you need to accept that." _What? Not responding?_

"He'll be ok."

"Mr. Halford…"

"He has to be." Sam said quietly, Dean wasn't even sure she heard that soft comment. He did. He tried to pull himself out of the dark well, out to the light and not just sounds. "See, see! He can hear us!" Dean could hear the beeping, he was choking again. _I don't care. I need to get to Sam. _

"No, he needs to come off that thing," Sam sounded desperate, like he was trying to stop something.

"His body is fighting the sedation, that's all. We might need to adjust the dose, I'll speak with the doctor." _No Sam, no. Don't let her—ah damn._ The floating sensation began to get more pronounced.

"No, No. This isn't working, he needs to come off that thing." Sam, scared, determined.

"Mr. Halford…"

"No. Now."

"I'm getting the doctor."

"You do that."

Dean was drifting further and further from those voices. He heard another voice, but there were no words, only sound. He could still hear Sam, not his words, but Sam. They must have given him something else, darkness suddenly rose up and pulled him down.

_He'd been nineteen, not quite twenty, and he had been really seriously injured. He and his father had been hunting and the thing had come at his father. Dean got between it and his dad. There was just no way anything else was happening. He didn't remember much until his father's voice, angry, pulled him back to consciousness._

"_Dean! What were you thinking! You don't do that, ever. Do you hear me?" His father said, his voice wild. Dean could sense the car seat under him and he could hear the sound of the engine, racing, pushed to its limit._

"_Dad?"_

"_It's ok, Dean. I'm taking you to the emergency room."_

"_Are you ok, dad?"_

"_What? Of course I am, you got between it and me. Don't do that again. Ever."_

"_No choice," he felt weird. His chest was slick, he could smell blood, he knew it was his. "Need to keep my family safe."_

"_Not me, Dean. Sammy. You need to take care of Sammy and if you do something this stupid how can you take care of your brother?"_

"_Sammy?" He was feeling bad, really bad. He knew, then, it was serious. He'd been badly hurt before, but this felt a lot worse than last time. He could barely hold on to consciousness. The pain was overwhelming. The thing's claws had torn a swath out of him, tearing flesh away. He was bleeding. He was losing it. "Dad, tell Sammy…"  
_

"_No, Dean. You tell your brother. You need to be here to take care of him. I won't tell him anything."_

"_Bring him?" He needed to see Sammy._

"_To the hospital? I don't think that's a good idea."_

"_Please? See him…Please."_

"_Ok, Dean. Just hang on till I get you there." _

_It was the last thing he remembered. There were flashes, the emergency room, pain, his father's face, afraid. Doctors, nurses, the pain of an IV. Then quiet._

"_Dean? I'm here." He had actually known the minute Sam had walked into the room. He felt his brother's hand on his. It felt good. Sammy was ok. He needed to know his brother was ok, he needed to know Sammy would be ok, even if Dean didn't make it. And he was pretty sure that would be the case. Sammy sat down beside the bed. He was crying. Dean held his hand, let Sammy hold his hand. Dean knew his brother was there, even when he slept._

_His father was alone in the room the next time he woke up. "Dad? Where's Sammy?" His father looked over at him, his eyes were red. _

"_I sent him off to get coffee and something for himself. He's been here since you came in."_

"_Yeah, I know," Dean took a breath. It hurt._

"_You need to be here for him, Dean. He needs you."_

"_He has you, it'll be ok."_

"_No, Dean. It won't be. Sammy needs you, to be there for him, to take care of him. No matter what happens, Dean. That's job one."_

"_I don't know dad, I feel…" He stopped, Sam came back in the room carefully carrying two cups._

"_Dean? You're awake!" He nearly dropped the coffee in his haste to get to the bed. "I've been worried, Dean." _

"_Hey, Sammy." He watched as his brother put the coffee down and put his hand in Dean's. "How're you doing?"_

"_Not good, Dean." Sam's eyes were full of tears. Dean knew the tears were for him, he knew his brother was afraid, was "not good" because of him._

"_It's going to be ok," he said. "It'll be fine. You'll see." He was pretty sure he was lying to his brother._

"_It can't be, Dean, if you're gone." Sam said, he understood what was happening, Dean could hear it in the tone of his voice. "I need you here, Dean. Please."_

"_It's ok, Sammy, I won't leave. Just give me a day or two, ok?" He hoped that was enough. Dad's right, he thought, Sammy needs me, Sam is job one—it comes before everything, even death._

"_Sure Dean, I'll be here everyday. I'll be here." _

"I'll be here, Dean." Sam's voice drifted over the memory. "They're not getting me out of this room anytime soon, no matter who they call. And I think they might have called just about everyone at this point."

Dean's throat hurt. It felt scratched, abused. His shoulder was aching, too. Memories crowded back. The demon shooting him, the wound, Sam tied to a chair, Sam at the hotel, cleaning his wound, fever, a note—it said goodbye—Sam's voice "I'll never forgive you." Sam, angry. afraid. "He has to be." The silence, the dark.

"Sam?" _Well that was a grunt. _"Sam?" Only silence from beside the bed. "Sammy?" _Is he gone? Did I imagine it? There was a note…_

"Dean?" Sam said, he sounded almost panicked. "Dean?"

"Sam?" Dean managed to open his eyes. _That was a lot harder than you'd think._ It was bright in the room, the light hurt his head. Sam was standing beside the bed. Dean tried a smile, "hey, Sammy." Sam just dropped. It was like someone chopped his legs out from under him. He fell into the chair. "Sam!" Dean struggled to sit up, to get to his brother. He looked so pale.

Sam put a hand gently on his chest, pushing him back on the bed. "I'm ok, you just surprised me, that's all"

_Surprised you? You looked like you were about to faint._ "Water?"

"I think it's ok. There's some ice here, would that be better?" Dean nodded, talking really hurt his throat. Sam gently lifted his head and held the cup of ice so Dean could get some.

"Thanks, Sammy." He smiled at his brother. "You ok?"

"Yeah, Dean. I'm ok." He sounded frustrated.

"Sam?" He frowned. Of all the things his brother sounded, ok was pretty far from the top of the list. He tried to push himself upright again. Sam gently pushed him back down. He left his hand there. "We need to talk, Sammy."

"You're right, but not now," Sam said with a sad smile. "You need to rest a little more, you've only been off the respirator for a little while. They, god Dean, they said…"

Dean lifted his right hand and put it over Sam's hand resting on his chest. _I don't care what he thinks about this, I need to know he's there right now. I need to know he's safe. I need Sam. Simple, isn't it? So damn simple. _"It's ok, Sammy."

"Yeah, I think it might be Dean." Dean noticed Sam hadn't moved his hand, either. _Maybe he needs me a little, too? Thanks, Sam, for that. _He drifted off to sleep. _I think it might be ok._

It was quiet when he woke up. The room seemed dim. _It must be night. I wonder how long it's been. We stopped at the hotel for the night, then it was bright and now night. Two days? I hope not more for Sam's sake. Waiting can kill you faster than anything. I've kept him waiting a lot in my life. Of course, the alternative is unthinkable. No, keeping Sam safe is job one. _He sighed. _I think I might have blown this, though. We should have talked about this. _

He opened his eyes. Sam was asleep in the chair beside the bed. He had managed to stretch out, his feet on a hard plastic chair. _I wonder where he got that? _Sam looked terrible. He had dark circles under his eyes, and asleep he looked young, vulnerable. Dean could see the strain of the last week etched into his brother's face, even now, even asleep. _I should let him sleep. _He tried to grab the cup of water off the tray. It slipped off and onto the floor. Sam was awake instantly. _Damn it, he needs to sleep a little deeper._

"Dean? What do you need?"

_Just knowing you're ok Sam. _ "Thirsty," he croaked. _And yes, it sounded like a croak._

"Dude, you should have said something," Sam shook his head.

"Didn't want to wake you."

"I'll go out and get something, I'll be right back," Sam walked out of the room. Dean watched him as he disappeared behind the curtain. _That sounded a lot like we were talking about something else. It might be time. We need to talk. This can't go on. If I pass out halfway through, we'll just pick it up later. I remember he said something about trusting him. Didn't he? It sounded like he thought I didn't._

Sam came back in with a cup and straw. He helped Dean up and held the cup for him. The water was cool, soothing his abused throat. "Thanks, Sam."

"Sure, Dean." Sam sat back down in the chair. He left his hand on the edge of the bed, almost, but not quite, in contact.

_Ok, hotshot, how do you start this conversation? Hard stuff first? That way if he wants to punch me I'll get it over with. _"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"I remember a note." Sam folded in on himself. "What was that about?"

"Dean, I…I thought if I left it would be better. I thought it would solve everything, you know."

"How could leaving be better?"

"After what happened Dean, I know you can't trust me. I'm so sorry," Sam looked like he was about to cry.

"What? What the hell are you talking about?" _That would sound a lot better if I had a little strength in my voice._

"You couldn't tell me about the wound, you let it get that way. You didn't trust me."

"What?" Dean struggled to sit up, to see his brother better. Sam put that restraining hand on him. "No, Sammy, no. It wasn't that at all."

"Then what Dean? What else could it be?" His voice was full of misery, or self-loathing. The tears started.

"I didn't want you to know because…" Dean stopped. _I don't want to tell him. I don't want him to think I thought he shot me, because he didn't, it was the demon._

"What?"

"Because the demon shot me. I didn't want you to think it was you. I was trying to keep you safe, Sammy." _Oh, man, am I going to cry now?_

"What, Dean?" Sam was looking at him, that lost look that Dean remembered from when his brother was about five—when he didn't understand why something had happened.

"The demon shot me Sam. That's how it happened. I thought if you knew…"

Sam took a ragged breath. "I knew, Dean." His voice was small.

"What?" _My turn for the whats._

"I knew, Dean. I told you—I was awake for part of it. I remember that," his face crumpled. "I remember shooting you Dean. I saw you fall, I thought you were dead. The demon thought you were dead. I thought…"

Dean heard so much in that "I thought…" _Yep, going to cry, I guess. _Dean could feel tears in his eyes. "Sam, oh god."

"Then I was there at Bobby's, and you didn't mention it and I thought, well maybe it had been a bad dream. Then I realized it was because you didn't trust me anymore."

"Sam…"

"It's ok, I understand you know. How can you trust someone when they might be possessed? You can't know, can you? I mean, when you first got to the hotel, you thought it was me and all I did was lead you on a wild goose chase that ended up getting you shot."

"Sam…" _He's not listening, what can I do, what can I say? _"Come over here, would you? So I can see you better?" Sam got up, hesitantly, and sat on the right side of the bed. The movement hurt the wound in Dean's shoulder. Sam saw and jumped up. "No, Sam, sit down." He patted the bed. Sam sat down again. _I think his wounds are worse than mine—mine are just a little green and oozy. _ He put his hand on Sam's leg. _Now what do I say?_

"It's ok, Dean. Don't get too tired, you're still not in great shape."

"I don't really care what shape I'm in Sam."

"I think that's what got us here." Sam tried smiling, it didn't really work.

"That's not what I meant. How can you think I don't trust you?"

"You didn't say anything. You were so silent."

_Ok, you have to tell him, get this off your chest. It'll just fester again if you let it. _"I thought you were angry with me."

"What? Why?"

"Cause I couldn't kill you when you asked me to. When you made me promise. I thought…" He couldn't finish. _I thought about it, but saving you always comes first. I know you asked, but I couldn't. I couldn't. Oh, come on, stupid tears._ He could feel them getting heavy in his eyes.

Sam put his hand over Dean's. "I might have been mad at first. Mostly I was afraid, dude. If I go dark side, you will be the first to go, you know. I…"

"You aren't angry?" Dean could hear the relief in his own voice. _I thought he said he was._

"Not about that, I might have been a little pissed that you let that wound get that way before you mentioned it. But I understand that Dean."

_Oh, no you don't. You don't understand at all. _"It never occurred to me," Dean said simply.

"What?"

"That you would ever think I didn't trust you." He felt a tear trickle down his cheek. _Oh, come on, stupid tears, it must be because I'm still a little sick._

"What?"

"Sam, trusting you is so much a part of me that it never occurred to me you would think otherwise. I'm sorry. I just never thought about it." _It's one of those absolute truths. Simple._

"Dean…"

_God, he looks young right now. _"What is it Sam?" _What is he hiding from me? I know it's there. _"Come on Sam, what?"

"But it was my fault. I shot you, I let it all happen. I killed someone, Dean, I watched him die at my hands, then I killed you, or I thought I did." It poured out of him, almost without a breath, almost without a pause. The words were getting ragged, like they were being torn from him, pain so apparent in his voice Dean had to grind his teeth together to keep from stopping him. _He needs to get this out of him, I have to let it._

Sam took a breath and continued. "That's why I tried to leave, why I left the note. I thought if…Then there was that wound and I knew you were hurt and I didn't say anything. I almost left you there, Dean. You were sick and I left. I almost let you die. That's what they told me. And they said you were…and then you coded, man, you coded and I stood outside that door, waiting. They…all because of me Dean. I wasn't strong enough to stop the demon. I couldn't stop it, Dean. Why couldn't I stop it? Why?" Sam collapsed forward, onto Dean. He was weeping. "Why couldn't I stop it, Dean? Why? Why?"

Dean put his right arm around his brother. He concentrated and managed to get the left up, too. _That hurts._ "It's ok, Sammy, it's ok." He repeated it over and over. He knew the words meant nothing to Sam at that moment, but he hoped his voice would help, somehow. He was crying with his brother. The tears were running down his face. His shoulder hurt like hell, but none of it mattered. Only Sam, job one. _Oh, Sam. I am so sorry. I wish I knew how to fix this for you. If I could I would. I just don't know what to do, what to say. _He held his brother as he had so many times when they were young, when Sam couldn't understand why something bad had happened—it was that voice Dean could hear now. His little brother, lost, hurt, desperately wanting it to be better. _And I am helpless. I can't fix it for him. All I can do is stand between Sam and whatever fate throws our way. _

He realized Sam was quiet—the sobs had ceased. He still kept his head down against Dean. _And "no chick flicks" be damned. Sometimes I might carry that a little far. Sam needs this, he needs the words, I might need to think about that a little. Maybe if I try opening up to him, we can avoid things like this happening again. Maybe. Of course, if I start doing something like that he might think I've lost my mind. _

"Dean?" Sam's voice was muffled, his head still down.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"I'm totally killing your shoulder, aren't I?"

"Nah, it's ok."

"Uh huh, if I had ripped your arm off you'd say that, too, wouldn't you."

"Probably."

Sam laughed a little and sat up. "No probably about it Dean." He smiled at Dean. "No probably about it at all."

"Yeah, probably," He said smiling back. "What is it?" He saw Sam swallow and frown.

"You still trust me?"

"No 'still' needed, Sam. Always have, always will. Nothing is going to change that. Ever. That's why it never even occurred to me. I don't even think about it, it's just there, part of me, you know."

"Dean, I'm sorry. I've been a little…"

"Don't Sam." He was forcing his eyes to stay open, he needed to make sure Sam was ok, but his body was starting to win the battle.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"It's ok, man. I'm ok. Go to sleep." He put a hand gently on Dean's arm. "It's ok. I'll be here when you wake up."

"Thanks for that, Sam." And he closed his eyes. _I think we might make it through this. I think we might be ok._ He knew Sam stayed sitting there until he was asleep, even after.

**Epilogue**

"You ready to get out of here, dude?" Sam said coming in with a wheelchair.

"Not in that."

"Hospital rules. Wheelchair or you don't get to leave."

"Wheelchair sounds good. Get the stuff," Dean said pointing to his bag. He was leaving with a supply of oral antibiotics, painkillers and dressings. His shoulder was still seeping. The annoyingly young doctor had said it might keep up for two weeks. _Which is just about the best news ever. Not._ _At least Sam convinced them to let me go early. I have no idea how he managed that. I'm not even all the way steady yet. He can drive. He'll like that anyway. _

Sam put the bag over his shoulder and wheeled the chair towards Dean. "Ready?"

"Sure, Sammy, what are you thinking?" He stood up and his legs went out from under him. _Just great. _Sam caught him. _He always does, doesn't he? _Dean stood there for a minute, one arm around Sam, waiting for his head to stop spinning, leaning on his brother.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sam?" He said letting his brother help him into the chair.

"Did you just hug me?"

"What? No. You're nuts."

"Felt a lot like a hug, Dean." Sam was laughing at him. _It is good to hear that laugh. I miss that, Sam, when you don't laugh. Let's me know I'm still breathing._

Dean smiled. "Well, if it was—and I'm not saying it was—it was a totally non-chick flick hug."

"A what?" Sam looked at him funny.

"You heard me, shut up."

"Jerk"

"Bitch." _Yeah, Sam, nice to have you back. Nice to be back._

The Impala was parked just outside the door. Sam helped Dean up and into the car. He sank down into the seat.

"What do you want to listen to, Dean?" Sam said pulling out onto the road.

"What do you think, Mr. Halford?"

"Judas Priest it is." Sam smiled at him and put a tape in the stereo. "It's good to be back, Dean." _Wow, there was a lot in that statement. Quite a lot. I think we might be ok._

"Yeah, Sammy. It is." _It's good to be home. _Funny how home could be a car. Dean looked over at Sam, his brother sensed the look and turned to him with an answering smile. _Actually home is more my brother first then the car. I think I'll keep that thought to myself, Sam might think I'm still feverish, and I might be. But I'm healing and so is Sam. We're together again, and since that will never change, we can fix everything else._

_**The End**_


End file.
